


The Crimson Collection (Prompts During October 2020)

by MurderInCrimson



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: AU, Abuse, Alcohol, Despair, F/F, F/M, Gen, Horror, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Modern, Multi, October Prompt Challenge, Other, Sadness, Seduction, Suicidal Thoughts, Teeth, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurderInCrimson/pseuds/MurderInCrimson
Summary: "The Crimson Collection" is a collection of short fictions concerning, mainly, Grelle Sutcliff from Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler. I am writing these stories based on the prompts I made earlier in the year.
Relationships: Alan Humphries/Eric Slingby, Angelina Dalles | Madame Red/Grell Sutcliff, Angelina Dalles| Madame Red & Grell Sutcliff, Grelle Sutcliff/Othello, Othello/Grell Sutcliff, William T. Spears/Grell Sutcliff
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	1. Despair

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is the first chapter in a series of short stories that have little to no connection. Each chapter is based off of a prompt list I made for October. This collection will not contain thirty-one shorts; I am using some of the prompts to invoke my art muse instead. 
> 
> As of writing this chapter, I am very far behind. This entry is based off of the prompt, “Despair,” which is the fifth suggestion on my list. 
> 
> Please note that Grelle is a trans woman, and always has been. If you are transphobic, or if you refer to her as ‘he/him,’ please do not comment on this fiction. Respect people’s pronouns. Thank you.

“Despair”

Grelle pressed her hand against the mirror. Her green eyes stared back at her, biting into her, drinking her down. Why was her reflection so distasteful? Yes--she was gorgeous. She was beautiful, and she loved herself--yet…

There would always be something there, staring back at her. Something wrong. It hurt her, down deep in the crevices of her heart. Everyone she knew saw it, too. All of her co-workers, all of the people she came in contact with. Save for Othello, the gentleman that he was, everyone referred to her as a male. 

Anger flooded her being. Without thinking, she slammed the palm of her gloved hand into the shimmering surface of the mirror. The glass broke into spider web cracks, a few shards slicing through the leather of her glove and into the flesh of her palm. Crimson blood gushed forth, sticky and hot, smearing against the now shattered mirror. 

“Bugger,” she snarled as she pulled her hand back. Cradling it to her chest, she sighed deeply, dramatically. It took a bit of time for her to remove her torn glove. Beneath the wet leather, her hand lay in shreds. “Tsk.” 

There was nothing for it. She sighed again, using her other hand to toss her hair out behind her shoulders. A trip to Othello, then. He often bandaged her up when she found herself bloodied. She was not sure if any of the other Reapers knew about that; it didn’t really matter. He was kind to her, if a little nerdy. 

She found Othello pouring over a book, frowning as he chewed on his bottom lip. He paused in his reading, sniffing the air slightly as she entered his work area. “Blood?” he asked, then looked to her. “Oh, Grelle, again?” 

The blood was sticky on her palm as she offered it out to the forensics Reaper. “Just a little run-in with a mirror.” 

As he took her hand into his own, he sighed. “This is the second time this week.” 

She forced a smile, but it did not reach her eyes. She waited, patiently, as he patched her up. “You’ve not told Will, I take it?” 

“Hm?” Othello raised his head to look at her over his round glasses. “Do you really think I would snitch on you?” He sighed again and shook his head. His mass of dark hair swayed slightly. It reminded Grelle of a dandelion when it had gone to seed. “No need to get you in trouble, I guess. It wouldn’t help anything. Besides. You’re supposed to protect me. I’m weak, remember?” 

The smile faded from her face. She looked down at his warm hand cradling her own, now bandaged. Some of her blood was on his fingers, on his wrist. He was good at bandaging her up, but he was messy about it. Without thinking, she said quietly, “I wish...I wish I could die, again.” 

Othello looked up at her, his head jerking so quick and hard that it looked as though it would snap off of his neck. “Uh…?”

Grelle peered into his eyes for a moment before turning away. “Forget it. It isn’t important, is it? It isn’t like I can commit suicide for a second time.” She twirled a lock of red hair around her finger. “It wouldn’t help, anyway~. Would I just be reborn a Reaper again? Again and again, a twisted cycle?” 

The shorter Reaper stood. He frowned, watching her for a time. “I don’t know if anyone’s tried it before. This is our punishment for taking our own lives.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Grelle--”

“No one sees me as a woman,” she huffed. “Life as a Grim Reaper isn’t exactly better than the life I had before. No. Back then, they laughed at me. They called me a man there, then, too. They ridiculed me. Do you know what it was like? Do you understand looking into the glass of a mirror and hating the way your body looks? Every. Single. Time.” She bit her knuckle to keep from screaming. With her sharp teeth digging into her skin, there was blood again. 

He let her rage. He let her despair before gently taking her hand again. “You weren’t the only one that killed themselves, remember,” he said quietly. “All of us here did it. We all...we all didn’t want that life, and now we’re stuck with this one. And, I dunno if it would help but...I see you as a woman.” He said it offhandedly, using what was left of his medical tape and gauze to tend to her knuckle. 

That silenced her for a moment. “Thank you,” she mumbled after a time, her eyes glued to his fingers as they worked against her skin. 

“Come on. Sadness doesn’t suit you,” Othello chuckled as he finished. “Do you want to get a drink?” He was grinning when he looked up at her, his eyes a bit devilish. “There’s a new pub I wanted to take you to.” 

Grelle smiled sweetly. “That would be nice~. You’re paying, though.” She giggled. “I have to buy a new mirror.”


	2. Seductive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing with the prompts of October...
> 
> This entry is based off of the idea of "seductive." This chapter takes place in a modern-day AU, and heavily features William/Grelle, along with a touch of Eric/Alan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Greetings. Thank you for all of the comments on the last chapter. This chapter will deal with a modern-day AU setting. 
> 
> The prompt for this story was “Seductive.” Enjoy.

“Seductive”

It was late. Almost too late for him; he knew he had to return to that blasted office job the next morning, and early at that. He was up for a promotion, at last--after spending more than ten years at the job, slowly working his way up from the mail-room when he was in college. Now he was so close to the top, to a more cushy position, to one that was more powerful in the overall scheme of the company. 

So, why on Earth was he following behind his three co-workers toward a nightclub?

“You’ve gotta relax,” one of them said, laughing. Ronald. He was kind enough, and a good worker when he wasn’t hitting on all of the females that worked within the company. Even the CEO’s wife wasn’t safe from the blonde’s shenanigans; everyone, save for her husband, knew of their torrid love affair. 

“When was the last time you had a drink, anyway?” one of the other men asked. Eric. He peered over his glasses at his technical boss, a smirk on his face. One of his arms was around the shoulders of his secretary and long time boyfriend, Alan. “C’mon, William. Lighten up. You’re gonna burn yourself out before you’re thirty-five.” 

A frown passed over his face as he narrowed his eyes at the other man. William finally released a breath. “One drink.” He paused when the other men cheered happily. Then, as one, they grabbed his arms and pulled him toward the loud, thumping music of the nightclub. In that moment, he knew it would be a folly to try to resist. Whether he wanted to or not, he was going to enter that damned place, with the loud music and the booze-scented air. 

It brought up his anxiety, and he felt a bead of sweat roll down his forehead. 

Alan reached the door first. He smiled gently as he ushered the other men inside. The bouncer at the door nodded to the smaller man. “Yer normal table’s empty, Humphries,” he rumbled. 

“Oh, thanks!” Alan smiled warmly at the bouncer before motioning toward a round table in the corner of the place. It sat away from the dancefloor, closer to the bar portion of the club, and looked much cozier than the tables that sat in the middle of the humming lights nearer to the bar. As the group walked over to it, William found himself relieved to see that it offered a touch of privacy as well. 

Still, he could see the people undulating and rocking their bodies on the dancefloor, should he cast his gaze in that direction. The thought of the sweat, the touching, the stench of beer-laden breath...It made him ill. He quickly turned away, facing toward Ronald as the blonde spoke. 

“So, gentlemen...what do you wanna drink tonight?” He waved his hand at William. “I think you should pick first, Boss-man. You’ll be runnin’ the company pretty soon! I can drink to that. You’re a slave driver, but you’ve got a heart, somewhere.” 

“Does he?” Eric chuckled. “I dunno. I haven’t even seen him smile before.” 

Alan slowly shook his head. “Don’t listen to them, William. I’m pretty sure Ron already had a few nips of something before coming out.” He glanced at the other men. “...Eric, you too, hm?” 

“Just a sip or two.” 

William’s frown grew. “You drove, Slingby. Honestly…” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I want your keys.” 

“Ah, c’mon, Spears. No way. We’ll get a cab, okay? Need to, anyway. I’m gonna spend the night at Alan’s. Tomorrow’s our anniversary, remember?” Eric pulled his boyfriend close. He sneaked a kiss onto the other man’s forehead before grinning. “Four years. I can’t believe it. We entered the company on the same day, saw each other, and blam!” 

Blushing, the shorter man leaned into Eric’s shoulder. “Oh, come on. You’ll embarrass me in front of our friends. Besides, the way I remember it, you met me in the employee’s bathroom and wouldn’t let me leave until I gave you my number. You nearly set my heart off. I thought you were going to kill me.” 

At this point, William zoned out. His mind swam away, away from the lights, the thumping bass, the smell of alcohol and bodies. Outside of his thoughts of work, of getting home, of just making it through the evening, he was looking at his hand as it rested on the table. Then, suddenly, something slammed down next to his wrist.

William jumped, blinking up stupidly at Ronald. The blonde grinned, motioning to a rather large looking drink he had just haphazardly put down in front of his boss. “Earth to Spears, come in Spears...got you something nice.”

“What...is it?” Will found himself asking. His mouth and throat felt like sandpaper. How long had he allowed his mind to drift? When he looked up, he noted that both Eric and Alan were gone, though their jackets were still hanging off of the back of their chairs. The small knapsack that Alan kept with him, containing the medicine for his heart, lay on the corner of the table. 

“You spaced out again, big time,” Ronald said. The joking was gone from his face as he scooted his seat closer to the other man. “You ‘mm-hmm’ed a rum and Coke. So that’s what I got you. And lime, since you seem to like drinks with lime, if I remember right from Eric’s party last year.” 

“Mm.” William touched the glass. Cold, frosted, slightly moist from condensation. 

Ronald looked over his boss’ shoulder to the dancefloor. “Oof. There’s a redhead making eyes at you, Spears.” He made a motion.

“Don’t you dare--” 

“When was the last time you got laid, Will?” Ronald chuckled into the other man’s ear. “She’s cute. At least have a drink with her.” He glanced up again as the  _ click click _ of painfully high heels echoed through the seating area. “Hello, mi’lady,” the blonde chuckled. “My friend here, William, well. He spotted you and he’s far too shy--” 

“A-dor-able,” the voice came. It sent a shiver, despite himself, up William’s spine. The woman’s voice was deeper than he was used to for a woman, husky and sensual, with just a touch of...danger? Perhaps. If some sort of venomous snake could speak, he imagined it would sound like this woman. 

Then he turned to look at her. 

The color drained from his face for a moment before the blood rushed straight to his cheeks. William found himself standing, body working on autopilot. He carefully pulled out a chair for the woman as she giggled, mentioning something about the world not having enough gentlemen. 

Ronald was right. She was cute--but in that, he was wrong as well. This red-headed creature was beyond cute. She was beautiful. Gorgeous. From the way her all-too high heels pushed her shapely calves into a delightful position, to the way her long hair swayed as she moved. 

“I’ll leave the two of you alone,” Ronald grinned. He patted William’s shoulder, giving him a thumb’s up, before disappearing into the thrall of dancing bodies. 

Before he could respond with a “Don’t you dare--,” the other man was gone. William felt his heart flutter in his chest as he returned his eyes to the beauty beside him. 

She offered her his hand. “My name is Grelle,” she purred. Her eyes were half lidded and seductive; it looked very much like she was used to men falling at her feet--and perhaps into her bed. When she spoke, she pouted just a touch, just enough to accentuate the plumpness of her lips. The lipstick she wore was a deeper shade of crimson than her hair; almost the color of blood. “Your friend said your name is William?” 

Then she said his name. William felt weak. He could listen to that voice for the rest of his life and never be sated. He wanted to drink her down. There were thoughts in his mind that he had never felt before in his life. Ideas, day dreams, wants--they pooled in his head until he couldn’t breathe. 

He was drowning in her.

Worse yet, he realized that was okay.

Grelle giggled lightly. She put her hand on top of his. “What are you drinking?” she asked. She tossed her hair over one shoulder, showing off her svelte arms and the slender muscle beneath her perfectly pale skin. The dusting of freckles across her arms, chest, and cheeks were like stars in the sky. 

His breathing hitched slightly, realizing that he wanted to lay tender kisses along those freckles, along the pale, creamy skin of her shoulders and throat. When she laughed again, he found that he was leaning in toward her. Even the musky, sweet, rose-scent of her was amazing. 

“Um,” she tittered. “Are you already drunk, hm?” 

“No,” William said as he crashed back into Earth. He sat a bit straighter in his chair. The drink was right at his hand; he pulled the glass to his lips to take a sip. It was heady, sweetened by the sugar of the soda in it. The lime was a good choice, serving to cut the worst of the alcoholic taste with a splash of sour. Ronald had been right. “Not yet.” Liquid courage; he would need it tonight. 

With her.

He nearly spilled his drink when she placed her hand on his wrist. They looked at each other, eyes locking for a moment. A moment that lasted forever as he lost himself in the depths of the green of her irises. They were beautiful, but beyond that…

They were predatory. 

She was dangerous. She was beautiful. She was perfect. 

William swallowed hard as he realized their lips were painfully close together. Then they were touching, gently at first, then with more. More. More. More. 

He needed her more than he needed air. He needed everything about her, every inch of her. She slipped her hand around his shoulders, pulling herself closer to him. Closer. She was sitting on his lap then. His hands grasped for her, supporting her as he pulled her tighter to himself. 

When they broke for air, his glasses were fogged up. Hers had already been placed on the table, and she was grinning at him. “Are...are you trying to seduce me?” he found himself asking.

Grelle giggled. “I think I am doing a rather decent job of it, hm?” she purred before diving down for another kiss. 

Across the floor, Alan, Eric, and Ronald watched. The three men were grinning from ear to ear. “Operation: Get Spears Laid--Well. I think it’s a pretty decent success.” They tapped their glasses together in a toast before draining them. The music around them thumped and crashed as the night wore on into the daylight hours. 

***

When William awoke, there was a woman in bed with him, her arm over his chest and some of her hair caressing his side. He put his hand to his head. “Honestly,” he mumbled to himself. 

But he was smiling. 


	3. Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am probably not going to be able to actually finish the prompt list this month. Next month is NaNoWriMo, so I will be doing that...with that said, I will return to this collection at some point, probably in December. Until then, I will press forward as much as my creative muse will allow me. I hope to write a few more chapters before the end of this month.

“Friendship”

I watched her. A splash of red against the dull grey of England’s dreary landscape. She was beautiful and so full of fiery rage. In a way, she was like me--she had been robbed, by fate, of the one thing that would make her happy in life. So much like me.

  
A reflection of crimson.

  
Angelina Dalles, known better by the title Madame Red.

  
What a beautiful cluster of Lycoris radiata, surrounded by weeds. In that moment, watching her murder, watching her spill carmine remorse across the cobblestones of Whitechapel, watching her gut the nameless whore like the slimy fish she was--ah. I fell in love, deeply and irreparably, with another woman.

  
I made myself known to her. How could I not? To see her so skillfully remove the wasted uterus, to watch her soak herself in the deep red blood...It was akin to seeing an angel made real. Not that a stuffy Angel would ever sully themselves with the matters of mortality, of course. But for the sake of my personal romanticism, Angelina was a seraphim of the most gorgeous scarlet.  
She was afraid at first. Then, slowly, she grew to enjoy my company. Perhaps, in her own little way, she loved me back. It was an odd sort of emotion between us. An understanding, a kinship, a friendship. There was love and hate there, in equal measures.

  
“Why didn’t you come to me sooner? You are a being of Death; why couldn’t you find me before my life was ripped away from me?”

  
There was always that question. Sometimes spoken, sometimes only shot at me via a glance. I had no choice, I told her. I was a creature bound by my duties. Even being with her then, now, it would reflect poorly on me. For all I knew, should I ever return to the realm of the Grim Reapers, I would be cast aside and out. I could be killed for doing this with her.

  
Yet…

  
In the back of my mind, I knew that William would never allow that. He hated me and loved me in a way different than my relationship with Madame Red. He would strike me, hurt me, harm me, spill my blood and damage my face--yet he would never kill me.

  
I hoped.

  
It was a whirlwind, really. A proper cyclone. Angelina and I murdered and ripped, tore and destroyed. We were the Hands of Justice; we were the darkness in the corner of the room and the monsters under one’s bed. It was delightful, delicious, delirious.

  
One night, just before the end of our little game, she took my hand. I was surprised, and it must have shown on my face. Though we were close, we rarely touched one another. I did not mind the closeness, but Angelina preferred to keep our little ploy of master-and-servant in play, even when no one else was in the room. So, as she took my hand to remove the white gloves I wore as part of my role, I studied her.

  
“Hush, Grelle,” she said gently. “I have sent the help home. It is just you and me tonight. As, perhaps, it should be.” I started to speak, though now I do not remember what I wished to say. She pressed her fingers against my lips. “Drop your disguise. I want to see you for you tonight.”  
I smiled with razor teeth.

  
“There is something so dangerously delicate about you,” Angelina continued as I pulled my hair from the velvet bow I kept it tucked back with. The brown melted away, allowing the crimson to spill back into my locks. “I see you as a toxic flower; to view you, one would think you were easily killed, easily plucked. Yet...should one be tempted to bring you to their lips…”

  
“You are waxing poetic, Madame,” I purred through a giggle. I let the ribbon drop to the floor. “What is in that pretty little head of yours tonight, hm?”

  
She pulled away then. Her arms folded across her chest. “Ciel is close to us--to finding us. That damned butler of his--” I couldn’t help but laugh-- “knows too much. But how? How can a man--”

  
“He. Is. No. Man,” I purred. I stepped forward to her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. She had lost weight since we began this endeavour; I could feel the bones beneath the pale cream of her skin. “He is not human, love.”

  
She bulked at that, turning in my arms and looking up into my eyes. There was confusion on her face. It was like she had sucked on a lemon. Sour, yet sweet. I wanted to kiss her little bud of a mouth. “Sebastian is like you?”

  
“No,” I giggled, enjoying the taste of the secret on my tongue. “Oh, should I tell you? Let it slip, let that cat out of the bag? Hm-hm-hm. Your beloved little nephew’s butler is no human, yet no Grim Reaper. No. He is something far more dangerous, something so twisted and black that I would fear him if I knew I could not best him.”

  
Angelina furrowed her brow. “Grelle--”

  
“A devil, dear. A demon from the pits of Hell itself, ready to sup upon poor little Ciel’s soul the moment his duty is done.”

  
Her eyes widened. “How long have you known?”

  
I released her. “Oh, for some time. A whiff of him was enough for me to know. I could see it in his eyes and taste it upon his words. He is a demon, through and through, and a monster in the flesh. I would just L-O-V-E to tear him apart, to spill his blood, to feel his warm body against mine as the life flees from him!” I giggled and twirled, all caught up in my fantasy. “It is the duty of my kind, after all. Like Romeo and Juliet--we were never meant to be together. What a dreadfully beautiful romance we could have!”

  
“You might have that opportunity,” Madame Red sighed. She sat down, pouring a glass of wine for herself before drawing another for me. “We shall see.” Silence for a moment as she motioned for me to sit with her. Finally, she looked to me. Something unreadable played in her eyes. I noticed for the first time that even her eyes were red, though a touch of brown in them muddied them. I quietly wondered how a human managed such a hue. Perhaps it was just the light from the fire in the hearth before us.

  
“Grelle,” she said at length. “You have told me that it was suicide that brought you to where you are now--to what you are now.”

  
“Oh, I don’t really like talking about that, love,” I mumbled around my glass of wine.

  
She settled back into her seat. “Had I taken my own life that night, instead of that woman’s--”

  
“Mm-hm-hm, I see where you are going with this. Believe me, Angelina.” I looked at her over the rim of my eye glasses. “When I threw myself off of that cliff and into the icy tendrils of the ocean, had I known that I would still be trapped in a male body--if I had known then what I know now--I would have not done it. I would have found a way to die without it being counted as suicide. Surely, a true D-E-A-T-H is better than this.” I frowned sharply. “What is going on in that head of yours?”

  
Madame Red did not speak for a moment. Her eyes stared into the fire, burying themselves in the orange and red of the flames. “If I wanted to die--”

  
I reached out, clasping her hand in my own. “I can promise you, Angelina. Should it come to that, I will do the deed myself. I love you that much.”

  
She looked at my hand, clutching her own. Then, slowly, she looked to me. Into my eyes, into the depths of who I was. I imagine her gaze then was what having one’s Cinematic Record watched as one perished was like. I wanted to look away, but found that I could not. This woman, this mortal woman who had had everything ripped from her held me then, with those eyes, as though I was nothing more than a fly in a spider’s web.

  
“You must promise me, Grelle. Promise me that, should I slip, should I fall away from who I am now, you will kill me. You will know. I trust you the most, out of everything and everyone in this world and beyond. I love you in a way I cannot explain. I...I think you might be the first true friend I have ever had. I do not wish to lose myself, to become someone I am not.” Her thumb rubbed gently over my knuckles. “You will know. Do not let me become just another woman.”

  
“I will not,” I promised gently. I drew her hand to my lips, kissing the pad of her forefinger. “I p-r-o-m-i-s-e.”

  
Her face fell easily into a smile then. “Thank you, Grelle.”

  
***

  
I watched her as they lowered her casket into the ground. That brat was there, and Sebastian. Everyone she had ever known, those that loved her and yet did not know her. They were all there to weep. To speak kindly of her before they turned their backs upon her and cursed her out of their lives. Little ants, running around, whispering sweet lies to one another before scurrying out of their nest to devour the next delicious gossip.

  
It had taken a lot to convince William to allow me to watch. I could not appear to the mortals, of course. I did not have my Death Scythe for protection, should the demon or the brat notice me. Perhaps worst of all, he gave me a time limit.

  
There was little time left. I listened to the Phantomhive child and Sebastian speak at Angelina’s headstone. I watched them passively; I was still injured from my fight with the demon. As attractive as he was, I honestly did not wish to face him again so quickly. He would tear me apart, and not in a way that would feel nice.

  
With the clock ticking, I watched them disappear from the cemetery. I dropped down from the tree I had been hiding in. My heels dug into the soft Earth, making it a touch hard to walk. Ah, the pains of being a fashionable lady.

  
“I promised you,” I said gently as I knelt by her headstone. I touched the letters there, spelling out her name. “Angelina Dalles...my lovely Madame Red.” I pressed my forehead against the cold stone. Hot tears slipped down my face and fell to the ground. Joining them, I placed a bouquet of red spider lilies on her grave and forced a wide smile.

  
“My friend,” I breathed. “Ah. I loved you so.” I pulled her coat, pulled from her body just a few days ago, tightly around me. “I promised you, yet I was so angry. I felt as though you had betrayed me. That brat...was he really worth this? We could have had the world. Now, you have a plot in the Earth. Sleep well, my sweet. I will try to live for the both of us.”

  
I squeezed my eyes shut, watching her in my memories. A splash of crimson.

  
Oh, my pet. I will be red enough for both of us.


	4. Terrifying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all so much for the kind comments and the plethora of hits and kudos. It’s enough to make a gentleman blush. 
> 
> This chapter is based off of the prompt “terrifying.” It deals with something very close to me personally, and one of my own fears that I have decided to induce upon Grelle. There is a warning here for those who are triggered by body dysphoria and surgery. 
> 
> I suppose that I should make it clear, once more--Grelle is female, no matter what she may look like. This, again, is something very near and dear to me. If you refuse to respect her pronouns (or mine, for that matter), kindly leave this fiction and never return. 
> 
> It should be noted that I really hated writing this chapter, and I am not completely happy with it. It was a way for me to reflect on how I personally feel about gender confirmation surgery--and the thoughts that I have about having it done. The need for it. I am rambling. For that, I apologize. 
> 
> Anyway...I hate this chapter, but it's here.

The mirror never lied. 

Grelle peered into the reflective glass and sighed. “Just two more days,” she breathed to herself. There should have been happiness there. Instead, there was terror. Fear. Horror. A dread that curled up in her stomach like a black cat and screamed as it clawed her apart from inside. It made her want to vomit. 

Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her forehead against the cold glass. 

The new millennium was truly a sight to behold. She had survived, somehow, the Victorian era right up until America decided to elect an idiot in an oversized suit to presidency. Though some of her friends had left the London Dispatch, she had stayed. Toughed it out.

And fought.

Originally, she and Othello were the only ones that really petitioned for changes in and around the office. Grelle was certain that Othello only aided her because he felt sorry for her. Surprisingly, William joined in next, giving them a bit more headway. Others quickly followed suit until, eventually, the Dispatch Society recognized transgender employees. 

It was a wave. Trans Reapers were allowed to wear whatever uniform fit them best--male, female, or something between--and were allowed to use their preferred names. Their genders were no longer questioned. In a way, it was a kind of heaven Grelle never thought she would live to see. 

But there it was. 

Flash forward years into the future. Now the Society allowed for gender confirmation surgeries, performed by those who had been doctors in life. They covered hormone replacement therapy. They allowed for Reapers to live their unlives as best they could. The higher ups loved it, in the end--with morale skyrocketing, even though most of the branches were still understaffed, the Reapers seemed to be doing a much better job than they had been before this little light of understanding was cast upon them. 

At first, Grelle was surprised to find that there were others like her. She had always been ‘out’ about it, not caring if others made fun of her for it. Well. She cared, of course, but there was not much she thought she could do. Now, though, things were different. Things were more beautiful than ever, and she felt like she was right. 

So why was the idea of her scheduled vaginoplasty surgery so terrifying? 

Top surgery had been wonderful, and she loved gently caressing her small breasts. Estrogen injections had aided in their growth, along with an overall softening of her features. She glowed, and most of the London branch loved it. William certainly did. 

There were a few other surgeries as well--minor ones, just to erase the ‘male’ of her face. Ones to make her look how she wanted to look, how she knew she should look. Ones that made her feel more beautiful than ever before, more delicate and dangerous and everything she needed. 

But.

“Get it together, Sutcliff,” she hissed at the mirror. Even her voice had changed, after about two years of vocal training. “You need this. You need this.” 

“Do I?” her reflection whispered back. “Aren’t I whole, as myself, without some surgeon slicing me apart? Am I not female enough? Even back then, I was. Even back then, when everyone misgendered me...was I not a woman then, too?” 

“Yes, of course.” Grelle pulled back from the mirror, sighing through her teeth. “But this will make me happy. This will confirm it--and tell the world.” 

Her reflection snorted as she crossed her arms over her chest. “R-e-a-l-l-y? Are you going to bare your vagina to the world, love? Let everyone take a peek, hm? Have a test, a try?” 

“Of course not!” Grelle raged, turning in a huff to face herself once more. She growled lowly, teeth bared and sharp. “I can finally rid myself of that disgusting part of me! I can finally be a woman--truly--I can finally--” 

“You. Already. Are. You always have been! Getting a surgery just to prove to the world that you are a female isn’t going to change the way the world sees you. There will always be prigs out there that will see you as male, no matter how hard you try. What is important is to be you. To love yourself. Haven’t you learned anything, pet? All of these years.” 

“I do love myself!” Grelle nearly screamed. “I do! I do...I...I don’t.” She put her face in her hands. As the tears came, she did not care that her make-up was running. “I put on a show for everyone. Even still, I am acting on a stage that is burning around me. I hate it. I hate it! Why can’t I just be myself?” 

The reflection softened. “What do you want yourself to be?” 

When Grelle looked up into the glass, it was her looking back once more--not the reflection with a mind of her own, but herself. Her own, firm image staring back at her with nothing to say. She studied herself for a moment. Slowly, slowly, she reached out to touch the cold glass. 

And she smiled. 

“I am me,” she said. “I know what will make me happy. I know who I am, who I have been--and I know what my future holds.” 

Because she loved herself. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
